


Till Death Do We Part

by Cheshire_Illusionist



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshire_Illusionist/pseuds/Cheshire_Illusionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the son of Davy Jones, Hook has skirted his duty for hundreds of years, and now Calypso is angry. When Henry goes missing and Emma searches for him, Hook and herself fall into a portal. </p>
<p>They end up within the depths of Davy Jones' Locker,  unbeknownst to the fact that the rest of the Storybrooke crew are not far behind. But while it's easy getting into the Locker, getting out is another story...</p>
<p>...and this story is about to get interesting.</p>
<p>[Post 2x17 and AU from there]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prologue, ergo = short. Inspired by the headcanon that Davy Jones is Hook's father, resulting in many Pirates of the Caribbean references throughout the rest of the fic.

A cliff overlooks an ocean, long tendrils of green grass swaying in the breeze wafting off of the crashing waves below. The sun is minutes from setting, and as it slips further down the horizon, a woman walks up to the edge of the cliff, holding the edges of her russet dress so not to trip over them.

She is followed by a young boy, perhaps no more than ten or eleven, his pale ocean blue eyes shining with delight and excitement. He skips merrily up to stand beside her and she lightly rests her arm around her shoulders.

The two stand and watch until the sun has finally fallen from the sky. Just as the last splashes of light are leaving the land, a green flash appears at the horizon, covering the ocean in a halo of green for a moment before winking out.

But now the restless seas are not empty, for a ship has appeared, its sails waving in the wind, a lone figure standing at the helm as the rest of the crew scurry around the ship. The boy smiles at the sight and hugs himself closer to his mother, and she smiles as well.

As the ship draws closer to the shoreline, the boy's smile wavers, and he looks up, brow furrowed. "What if he doesn't like me?" he asks voice quiet and questioning.

His mother looks down at her son and tousles his messy black hair. "He's your father, Killian. I don't think even a man as temperamental as Davy Jones could not love his own flesh and blood."

Killian's face brightens considerably and he skips forward a little more, teetering at the cliff's edge. Soon boats are pulled up and rowed to the shore, and for the first time, the young boy can see his father. He waves and jumps up and down eagerly, ignoring the 'calm downs' his mother is directing at him from behind.

The man standing up in one of the rowboats sees his son and looks surprised, but then overjoyed. Killian is just as happy to see his father; dark-haired just like him, with streaks of grey threading through the roots-he gets his eyes from his mother's side.

It is the first time Killian Jones sees his father, and it's also the last.


	2. I

Captain Hook’s eyes snap wide open as he sits up in bed, startled. Sweat beads his forehead and chest, sticking strands of black hair to his forehead that he quickly brushes back, then rests his head in one hand. “What the bloody hell was that?” he mutters, shaking himself as if that will rid his mind of those awful images.

The tall, well-built man staggers out of bed, stumbling around in the dark until his hand finds matches and lights a lantern. He sits down on the plush velvet of the chair at his desk and rummages around in a drawer until his hand grasps cool glass. _After having a dream like that, a man bloody well needs a drink-or three-_ he thinks, pouring the rum into a glass. _Why is that sea witch even bothering me now?_

_A better question,_ he thinks. _Why has she ever bothered me?_

The infamous Captain of the Jolly Roger struggles with nausea as he recalls the dream, the stark, vivid, frightening images haunting his mind like the miserable ghosts of his past. Not all of his dreams often make sense or are easy to remember, but any one that is sent by that awful witch seem to stick like glue.

She’d been back-the first dream since the curse had been broken-although not the first time she’d visited him. It was the dreams he hated the most, almost more than when she showed up in the form of those nasty crabs, although there was little to compare between the two. She’d- _as per bloody usua_ l-come to him, reminded him of his task, growing more and more angry each time he refused. He’d survived over three hundred years dealing with the nasty witch, but it never got any easier, tonight being no exception. 

“Witch must have been spending time in Wonderland,” he thinks aloud again, recalling her words of warning. For some strange, idiotic, and insane reason, she’d said she’d hurt someone he cared about if he didn’t heed her commands. According to her, it was the Swan girl-Emma. Not that Emma wasn’t an exceedingly attractive, beautiful woman, and she certainly could hold her own against him-except when he was in the business of throwing sword fights, although even then, she hadn’t been able to trust him and had bloody knocked him out-but Hook’s one and only love was revenge. Perhaps love was the wrong word-but then again, it had been the wrong word for a while.

After Milah, love was sort of a weird thing. He tried to pretend that it didn’t exist-or pretended that it had only existed around her. 

Of course, after Milah, Killian Jones was swept under the rug and Hook came out. He didn’t really like Hook all the time, but Hook was who he was now, and who he would always be.

(Except when the Swan girl was being so bloody perceptive)

(But he tried not to think about that. Except when he did. Which was getting to be a problem)

Hook had had too much time lately to think about things after getting back to the Maine town from New York, after commandeering a boat at the docks and making his way up the coast, and not enough time doing anything of use. He hadn’t left his ship for a few weeks, after hearing that his poison hadn’t worked and it had somehow killed Cora instead-it was a good thing that Ruby girl talked so much and so loudly, or he never would have found out anything. 

Now he had to watch from afar as Rumpelstiltskin worked to save his loved one’s memories, and do nothing to get his revenge, because there was nothing to be done.

It really just came down to the fact that Hook was out of ideas when it came to killing the Dark One. And...if he was honest with himself, the taste of revenge wasn't as sweet as he expected. 

Just then, a knock at the door to his cabin startles him out of his partially sleep, partially drink-induced stupor, and he lurches out of the chair, bracing himself against the wall for support as he goes to open the door, brushing back stray locks of his hair as he walks.

_BANG-BANG-BANG_

The knock sounds out again, although this time Hook is more inclined to consider it as the efforts of someone trying to kick down the door-perhaps it’s the crocodile, come to kill him at last. He’s not entirely sure whether he’d fight back or not (He hates to admit it, but he’s getting bloody tired of this crocodile not dying)

_Yes,_ he decides. _It’s definitely the rum talking._

Because why wouldn’t he kill the monster he’d been hunting for longer than he’d been aging? 

So Captain Hook opens the door and is surprised to see golden blonde locks and a dark black jacket instead of a golden-handled cane and a tailored suit. 

“Swan,” he says, immediately going into his flirtatious (also known as self-defense) mode and leaning against the doorjamb as if it’s no big deal for her to be here at two in the morning while he’s in nothing but a pair of leather pants. He flirts because the look on her face (fearful and anxious) scares him more than he wants to admit. “To what do I owe the extreme _pleasure_ of your company? Couldn’t resist me any longer?”

Emma frowns, but doesn’t bother to make any other facial expressions (Such as rolling her eyes-Hook has noted that that’s one of her favourite ones), immediately cluing him into the fact that something’s wrong. She may be perceptive, but he can be just as so.

“It’s Henry,” Emma replies, “He’s missing.”

 

Emma watches as Hook steps to the side, waving his arm to usher in. “Rum?” he asks, not waiting for her answer as he goes over to the table and pours her a glass. “Where would your boy have gone at this time of night?”

She cautiously takes it from him as she surveys the room-of course his cabin is ridiculously extravagant, he’s a pirate captain. Richly coloured velvet draperies, silk sheets on the bed (She thinks that it’s silk, but she won’t ask, because she knows what he’d say), a plush carpet, and a huge dark-stained oak desk. He takes a seat on the chair he had vacated a few minutes earlier and props his feet up on the desk, Emma staying standing. She puts her glass down after taking a sip, not showing how utterly disgusted she is by pirate rum.

Honestly, she thinks, drain cleaner might be a better option.

She doesn’t say anything about the rum, though, because a far more pressing issue is on her mind-her son. (No, not how good the pirate might look without a shirt on. Because she’s very determined to not think about that.) “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, I guess.”

“Thought the boy might have come to me?” Hook asks, downing another gulp of rum, “Sadly, no. I haven’t seen hide or hair of the lad, and I can’t think of a reason he’d have to be wandering around the docks at night.”

Emma sighs audibly, partially because of her worry, partially because even talking with the pirate Captain is so exhausting-even if he’s not doing anything irritating. “I couldn’t either. That’s why I’m here, asking you.”

He raises one eyebrow. “You think I’m a good source of information?”

Emma gives him one of her half-smiles. “Cora’s _dead_ , Hook. Regina doesn’t go out in public. And Gold is alive and well, but _very_ distracted trying to fix the mess with Belle that you created. I don’t think you’re a good source of information, but you’re the closest thing this town has to a villain.”

It’s a sad thing when she can predict his smirk. “Villain, hmm? The pirate thing, _right_. Well, I’m being honest with you, love; your son hasn’t been here.”

Her shoulders visibly slump and she leans back against the wood panelling of the cabin, the strain of waking up in the middle of the night to find her son taking its toll. She swears under her breath.

“However,” Hook says, and she’s rather startled to look up and see that he’s not but a few feet away from her. “Perhaps you can do me a favour and be honest with me; are you sure you didn’t come here for the pleasure of my company?”

Emma brushes him off. “I don’t have time for this, Hook. If you don’t know where Henry is then I’m going. Maybe Ruby can pick up his scent again.”

“Wolf-girl. Right. Wait...” he begins, eyes narrowing, “the Ruby-wolf, she followed his scent here?”

She gives him a quick, short nod. 

“What could your boy be doing at the docks?” he muses, frowning.

Emma watches Hook as he thinks-not because she’s fascinated watching his mind at work or anything poetically ridiculous like that-but more because it’s...well, weird. If she was honest with herself, Hook’s portrayal in ‘the real world’ was pretty messed-up compared to the scruffy, charming, (and oh-so-obviously attractive-wait, she means villainous) and dangerous pirate that stands in front of her now. And it’s even weirder watching him think, because, to be honest, the guy in the Disney movies was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

_CRASH._

Emma whips her head up, refocusing her eyes just in time to see the glass of rum tumble out of Hook’s good hand, shattering on the carpet in a million tiny pieces.

Her first thought is- _That’ll be a mess to clean up._

Her second is- _What the hell?_


	3. II

Ruby checks her cell for the time. Then she checks it again. And again. Her eyes dart up to the clock tower, just to make sure that she hasn’t got the time wrong and that maybe Emma hasn’t taken longer than she said she would.

“I’ll be gone ten minutes,” she had said, giving Ruby a look that meant ‘don’t-you-dare-tell-my-parents’, “I need to go check on someon-something.”

Ruby’s keen hearing obviously didn’t miss the slip up, but she had pretended that nothing had happened. Of course, it was very obvious to her exactly who-not what-the daughter of her best friend was checking on, and as she checked her cell the hundredth time she was pretty much positive.

Snow had threatened to shoot him, David had threatened him with a duel, Gold had threatened him with a cane (and magic), Belle had threatened him with a bookshelf (it was  
less of a threat and more of an attempt at injuring him), and Emma had threatened him a good deal of times, from what Ruby has heard, but the pirate that insisted he couldn’t be bested had sort of a long list of people threatening him. And Ruby is more than happy to add her name to that very list, as long as it’s during the full moon.

So she picks up her feet and speed-runs over to the docks, stopping a few feet away from the first line of fishing boats and other marine vehicles. Sure enough, Hook’s ship glows with lights, coming from what is probably the Captain’s quarters.

Does he want to get beat up?

And, more importantly, what’s taking Emma so long? It’s enough to even ask the pirate if he’s seen Henry; after all, Ruby trusts him as far as she can throw him-well, bad example, she’s pretty strong thanks to the wolf-thing-but to take twenty minutes or so doing so?

Well, he had worked with Cora in the past, and much as Emma seemed to be wary of him, Ruby could see some sort of connection between the two. Not to mention that it was two in the morning and Emma was probably not entirely awake. 

Ruby lets out a half-sigh, half-growl, and spins on her heels, jogging in the direction of the Charming family home. She wasn’t entirely looking forward to telling her best friend, Snow White, excellent archer, and overprotective-father Prince Charming that their daughter had gone to look for her son, and was possibly being held hostage by the one and only Captain Hook, who had a vendetta against Rumpelstiltskin, who happened to be Henry’s grandfather, and therefore ‘the also-known-as-Killian-Jones’ pirate captain might have tried to use Emma and Henry as a bargaining chip.

And it wasn’t even three in the morning, for goodness sakes!

Ruby bangs on the door of the apartment and waits the necessary few minutes for the queen and her husband to get out of bed and stumble over the door. Sure enough, the two people standing in the doorway are rubbing their eyes and trying to figure out who could be knocking at this hour. David rubs his head, obviously feeling groggy, and Mary Margaret blinks a few times. “Ruby?” She says finally, her face confused. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about Emma. And...this really isn’t going to sound good,” Ruby responds, “But please don’t run out there and kill him until after I finish explaining, at least.”

David’s head snaps up. “Kill who? Gold? Neal?” he frowns, then his face hardens. “The pirate? It’s him, isn’t it? When I get my hands on that-”

Ruby avoids his gaze and explains everything in one long sentence before the prince does anything drastic. 

“HenrywentmissingandEmmawenttolookforhimbutIthinkshewentoaskHookifhehadtakenhimandnowshe’snotcomingbackandthelightsareononhisshipssohemighthavecapturedherandtriedtousehertogettoGold.”

Mary Margaret reaches out and puts an arm on Ruby’s shoulder. “Slow down, we have time. What happened, exactly?”

Ruby’s wolf hearing doesn’t miss David muttering something about pirate captains running out of time because he’s going to kill him, but she explains anyway, this time slowing her story down. “Emma woke up and found Henry gone, but she didn’t want to disturb you two in case it was nothing serious. I was in the forest nearby-wolf thing-and smelt her, so I came and asked what she was doing. She told me the story, and I followed his scent for a while-it stopped at the docks. She asked if I could go check around Granny’s and said she had to go do something-I think she went to talk to Hook; ask if he’d seen Henry,”

“And...?” Mary Margaret urges for her to continue.

“And, well, his ship had lights on and Emma’s scent stopped nearby, and she was gone longer than she said she would be, so...” Ruby finishes, trailing off at the end.

“So you think he might have captured both of them, because he knows that Henry is Gold’s grandson.” David states, clenching his fists. “That’s it; we’re going to go on a pirate hunt.”

Instead of calming her husband like Ruby expects her too, Mary Margaret nods. “I’ll go get my bow.”


	4. IV

Catcalls and rowdy laughter sound out from the cramped space of a portside village tavern, men sitting in chairs and clinking glasses of ale. A teenage Killian Jones sits at a bar, nursing a glass of rum and regaling a pretty blonde girl from the village with stories of his father’s adventures. He’s only met him the one time, six years before, but his mother has told him much as well. 

“Has he really been to all those realms?” the girl asks, resting one arm on the bar counter as she looks at him with big blue eyes.

Killian nods, taking a gulp of rum. He leans back. “Oh yeah, he’s been everywhere! Someday I’d like to do that...sail the lands, travel. See new things. Have adventures, y’know?” 

His hopes to find a person that understands his dreams would have been dashed if he’d noticed that the rosy-pink lipped smile she gives him is nowhere near being genuine, but Killian is already half-drunk to care. “Oh, of course! You’d bring me with you, wouldn’t you?”

The teenage boy flashes her with a wide, flirtatious grin, the type that has all the other girls in the village swooning over him. He’s only sixteen but is already incredibly handsome-bright eyes, dark hair, a signature smirk. “Why wouldn’t I, darling? Oh, yeah, I’ll travel everywhere, go to every realm. I’ll have my own ship,” – 

“KILLIAN JONES!” His words are cut off by a sharp shout emanating from the entrance to the tavern. Killian spins around in his chair to be assaulted with the sight of his forty-something mother standing in the doorway, hands on hips, a sharp glare on her face. 

The boy spins around to look at the girl he’d been talking to a few moments before, but she’d slipped off. He turns back only to have a calloused, work-worn hand grip his arm and drag him out of the bar, hoots and shouts of ‘Momma’s boy’ trailing in his wake. 

As soon as they’re outside and out of out sight Killian rounds on his mother, eyes blazing with the fury teenagers emit oh-so-well. “What the hell was that?” he snaps.

“Language, Killian! And hush your voice, no need to display your business to everyone.” His mother chastises.

He rolls his eyes, “As if you didn’t just do that. I’m practically an adult, and you just walked in there screaming at me!”

Immediately her face darkens, and she looks down, wringing her hands and adjusting her modest, sensible dress.

“Mother...?” Killian begins, looking at her curiously. She looks back up at him, and he’s surprised to see her eyes glazed over with tears, “Mother, what happened?”

She brushes him away and starts to turn, as if to leave, “It’s nothing, Killian, my son. You’re right, you’re practically an adult now. There’s no reason for me to bother you with this.”

“Tell me.”

“Killian...”

He curses. She’s too distraught to reprimand him. “Tell me!” he screams.

“Your father is dead!” his mother continues, even as a look of shock hits Killian’s face, “Your father is dead, he died, someone ripped out his heart, he’s dead, and you can’t come back from death, not even when you were the caretaker of them, no you can’t. See, see what you’ve done?”

Killian stumbles backward, hitting the brick wall of the tavern behind him. “What I’ve done...?” he asks, voice wavering on the edge of fear.

“Yes, you!” she screams, eyes brimming with tears, “Because you’re his son, and Calypso needs a heir to fill his role! Do his job! She’s going to take you away from me, take 

“Dad...dad is dead? Dead...?” 

“Dead! Gone! He’s never coming back. I was a fool to fall in love with a man such as Davy Jones, my mother said it herself. ‘Don’t go running off with that man, Wendy Darling,’ she said, ‘He’ll only bring you pain, he doesn’t love you, he loves her,’ she said. And now she’s dead, and he’s dead, and Calypso is going to take you away too.” His mother crumples to the ground and clutches her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Killian tentatively reaches out to touch her arm, and his mother looks up at him, eyes alit with fury and pain. It is only then that he notices the grey streaking through her russet hair, only then that he sees the fatigue in her eyes and the wrinkles forming on her hands. “Who’s...who’s Calypso?” he asks.

“Sea goddess. Witch. She’ll take you, take you and not bring you back...” his mother mumbles something under her breath, hanging her head, “Run, Killian.”

“What?”

She looks up, and this is the last time Killian sees his mother. “She’ll take you, Killian, so run. Run, and don’t look back.”

He staggers a few feet back in shock before turning around and dashing off down the street, toward the docks, leaving behind the haunting echoes of his mother’s silent tears as tears of his own stream down his face. 

 

Emma stares at Hook as he stands there, his now-empty hand still formed as if it was clutching the glass-which is on the floor, scattered around like crystalline diamonds. He moves, slightly; his head looks down, and then up at her, pale blue eyes meeting her own hazel ones. “Emma?” he asks, wide-eyed. 

It’s the first time he’s called me anything other than ‘Swan’, she thinks. She take an angry step forward, walls firmly in place and heavily barricaded. “What the hell is going on?”

“Emma...” Hook begins, but she cuts him off furiously.

“I asked you a question, Hook. What the hell is going on?” Emma says her voice full of anger, practically yelling. “Did you take Henry? Is this part of some sick, twisted, plan to get at your ‘crocodile’? Because I can tell you, you say that you’re nothing like him, but he’s just the same, always plotting, always manipulating.”

“Em-Swan, I didn’t...”

“Didn’t what? I swear if you hurt Henry you won’t even have a life left to regret!” Emma

Hook takes a step forward-No longer Killian, but Hook-until he’s right in her face. “I didn’t take your son! I have no idea where he is. And I’m not like that bloody beast!”

Suddenly he notices a change in her face-fear-and realizes that his hook had come to rest at her neck. He looks at it, and, as if startled by the fact that he’s seeing metal instead of flesh, stumbles back, clutching the bedpost for support and cursing under his breath. “Swan...”

Now that the threat is gone; Emma’s anger replaces her fright. She grabs the captain by the lapels of his coat and yanks him up until he’s facing her. “You’d better give me an answer, Hook, because if you know anything about my son-Oh, what the hell, if there’s anything you’re not telling me in general, spit it out.”

He mumbles something, but she can’t hear. “What?”

He says it again. “Calypso,”

“Calypso? As in, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow, sea goddess, Calypso?” Emma says, looking incredulous. “Oh, please don’t tell me he’s your distant cousin or something.”

“I don’t know who bloody Jack Sparrow is, but I can assure you, love, that Calypso is very real, and she’s no cousin of mine.” Hook replies, straightening himself until he’s standing firmly on the ground again.

“Okay,” Emma gives him a confused look, “Okay, so Calypso is real, along with Cinderella, and Captain Hook, and Doctor Freakin’ Frankenstein...what does that have to do with Henry?”

Hook doesn’t comment, just turns and goes over to his desk, where the bottle of rum still sits. “I need a drink,” he mutters, “More than one, probably.”

A hand reaches out and grabs the bottle before he can. Emma holds it above her head. “No rum, not until you give me some answers!”

Hook sighs and rolls his head back, staring up at the ceiling, then yanks the bottle out of her hand-he is taller than her, after all. “Trust me, love, you need rum for this story.”

“Judging by the baffled look on your face, love, Calypso is also a ‘commodity’ in your world?” Hook begins, pouring himself a glass of rum. Emma rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment (He’s a pirate; she’d be more surprised if he didn’t have rum-her attempt at talking to him when he wasn’t drunk had pretty much failed before she even tried it).

“She’s a character in a movie.”

“...Movie?”

Emma gestures randomly to the side. “Moving pictures, magic box, whatever you want to call it.”

Hook is briefly reminded of seeing such a thing around town. “What is she like in this...movie?”

“Scary?” Emma shrugs. “Some woman that lives in a swamp and casts spells. She gives out jars of dirt. I haven’t seen it since I was a lot younger, really, I can’t remember.”

“Dirt?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Much like your rendition of the beanstalk story, it sounds much more delightful than the real one.”

Emma decides not to comment on the fact that the idea of Snow White trying to kill bluebirds with a broom (She had read some of the ridiculous book) was pretty weird in its own right, and that the Mad Hatter was also a psycho kidnapper...well, it was best not to think about it for too long. “What’s the real story, then?”

Hook takes another swig of rum, and then sets the glass down as he leans against the desk. “Calypso, the most irritating sea goddess known to man gave my father the job of ferrying souls to the next world. Short to say, his heart was ripped out, he died, and the job passed on to me, being his heir. I ran from Calypso and refused to do my job, and I’ve been running ever since.”

Emma tilts her head. “Your...father?”

“Yes, love, that’s why the task was given to me. I was his only son.”

Emma does not like where this is going-she remembers quite enough of those Pirates of the Caribbean movies to know that the only person ever ‘tasked’ with such a job by Calypso was a guy with tentacles for a beard, who ruled over a ship of fish people. “Killia-Hook,” – she stops herself before she says his first name, suddenly recalling what last name was paired with that. “Killian Jones?”

Hook downs the rest of his rum. “That is my name, lass, don’t overuse it.”

(His voice was pained. She wondered why)

“Hook...” Emma begins, “What was your father’s first name?”

“David- Davy, really. What’s it matter?” Hook raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, hell,” Emma mutters. 

It seems Hook can’t resist one of his comments-although at this point, Emma can’t tell whether it’s a genuine comment or an attempt at being annoying. “Actually, they called it Davy Jones’ Locker, but that’s pretty accurate too.”

“Oh, hell.” Emma repeats. “Your father is Davy Jones, and Calypso now wants you to go ferry souls to the Locker or the Underworld or whatever the hell you call it?”

“I knew you were a smart lass,” Hook replies nonchalantly.

Emma straightens herself from her position leaning against the wall and takes a careful step towards the pirate Captain. “What does any of that have to do with my son?”

Hook realizes then that he really can’t tell her without things getting awkward, and much as he loves the blush that creeps up the back of her neck, or the continuous eye rolling she gives him when he’s embarrassed, somehow he doesn’t think that she’d take kindly to the fact that Calypso might have taken her son to get to her, and therefore him. “Well, love...” he begins, trying to draw out the conversation, hoping that something will interrupt them (At this point, an angry Prince Charming might actually be preferable).

“Hook,” Emma glares at him, “What does Calypso have to do with my son?”

And then he gets the interruption he wanted-all of a sudden, the lights on the ship wink out and everything is plunged into total blackness. Hook stumbles forward, catching himself on the bedpost as the ship starts to rock wildly. The sound of glass shattering and books falling of shelves sounds out. “HOOK, what the HELL is going-?” a female scream comes from nearby, and a warm body falls into his arms.


	5. V

Snow White, Prince Charming and Red Riding Hood rush down the main street of Storybrooke, the sound of their shoes hitting pavement the only audible sound in the otherwise still night. The street is quiet and dark, with few streetlights lighting up anything, and the usually comforting glow coming from Granny’s is nonexistent. 

“I think I can smell her!” Ruby says, quickening her pace.

David frowns and the three push on, finally coming to a halt at the docks to see the same sight Ruby had described-The Jolly Roger, with a warm glow radiating from underneath the quarterdeck-presumably the captain’s quarters-at the stern of the ship, “Just as I left it,” Ruby comments.

But this is not what stops them in their tracks-for, right above the ship, a huge storm is brewing, raging, dark clouds swirling above the water and obscuring the delicate shine of the stars and moon. Lightning flashes in the clouds, pure white, bright, and brilliant, illuminating the churning waters of the ocean below.

“Ruby...” Mary Margaret begins, “Was that storm there before?”

The only signal the wolf girl can give that she’s heard her friend’s question is a short, quick, shake of her head. She goes a few cautious feet forward, as if the woman hailing from a land of magic can’t believe the sight she’s seeing-it’s the strangest thing next to when the big cloud of purple magic swept through the town after the breaking of the curse.

Just then there’s a loud _BOOM_. The lights on the Jolly Roger flash once, and then disappear. The ship is shrouded in darkness. “EMMA!” Mary Margaret screams, trying to run, but David holds her back.

Waves crash, roaring, and start to twist and turn underneath the great ship as it rocks to-and-fro. A whirlpool forms, and the three can only watch and hear the screams of the wind as the Jolly Roger is swallowed by the ocean, falling into the deep whirlpool.

And then the seas are calm, and the only sound that can be heard is the sound of the Saviour’s mother screaming her husband to let her go. “We’ll get her back!” he tells her, finally pulling her back and hugging her to his chest. “I promise you, Snow, we will get her back.”

“She’s my daughter...” Mary Margaret says softly, her voice wavering.

Ruby stands there feeling helpless, because even the strength and enhanced senses her wolf-side gives her can do nothing now. So she stands there, her face grim. “We will find her, Snow,” she says, giving David a smile. 

“How do you know that?” Mary Margaret asks, lifting her head slightly, “I lost her to the curse, lost her to her own pain, and I almost lost her back in our land too.”

Ruby responds in just the way that anyone having known the Charmings for many years would, “Because people in your family _always_ find each other,”

David nods, and at this, Mary Margaret straightens somewhat, still in her husband’s arms, but her mind now set in Snow-White-Mode. “You’re right, Ruby. We will get Emma back, and I don’t care if we figure out where a three-hundred-year-old pirate would have taken her to do it.”

 

The first thing Emma is aware of when she slowly comes to is the stifling heat of the room, pressing against her skin like a thick, suffocating, sticky layer of sheets. It’s quite different than the cool, light humidity and faint breeze that typically accompanies the Storybrooke air, so Emma knows that wherever she is-she’s not quite ready to open her eyes yet, her mind is still waking up-it’s not the small seaside town. 

The second thing she is aware of is related to her current location-the situation, or rather, the _person_ that got her in this mess. Whatever happened after the lights went out and Emma fell forward, banging her head on a cupboard is a mystery to her.

Emma slowly blinks open her eyes, taking in the harsh, blinding rays of sunlight emanating from the great paned windows at the far end of the cabin. They light up every surface, basking the room in a warm, if somewhat brilliant glow. She rubs her eyes, trying to get them to adjust the abrupt change in lighting-after all; it had been very, very, very early morning back in Storybrooke-and tries to figure out her surroundings.

She makes an attempt at sitting up, only to realize that part of the warmth of the room is not coming from the sun blasting in through the windows, but the heat coming from the person she’s lying on top of-wrapped in the arms of, actually.

Hook.

Emma silently thinks of a good many insults she’d like to throw at the pirate, but as she pries his arms off from around her shoulders and waist, she realizes that he’s unconscious-dead to the world. In other circumstances that would be a rather pleasant thing, to be honest, as there’s only so much innuendo and flirtatious comments a person can take before they get fed up with a certain pirate, but right now she’s rather interested in finding out what the hell is going on. Seeing as how this is his ship, it’s pretty likely that he’d know. 

Not that she’s looking forward to the idea of interrogating Hook-it’s been irritating in the past-but she’s rather curious...well, judging by the looks of her awkward entanglement in his arms, the pirate captain had tried to protect her when stuff started flying off the shelves. They both were knocked out anyway, though. 

As Emma is musing over her current situation, the body lying on the ground beside her starts to shift, and a groggy, unintelligible stream of mumblings-most likely curses, knowing Hook-comes from his prone form. His pale blue eyes flicker twice, and then open fully, staring at his surroundings. His gaze immediately darts over to Emma. “The lovely feeling of waking up with a woman in my arms,” he says, looking intently at her, “Are you growing to enjoy my scintillating company, Swan?”

Emma quickly hops up, but not fast or un-awkwardly enough to prevent him from noticing how she was slightly flustered. “Not the time, Hook,” she snaps back.

He sits up, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the floor, and then dusting off his pants as he slowly stands up. Emma realizes then that he’s still shirtless. Joy. She’s rather grateful that she hadn’t been aware of that particular detail when they’d been lying on the floor. Hook stretches and yawns, “It’s always the time, love,” he says, winking.

Emma doesn’t even grace him with an eye-roll. “Where the hell are we, Hook? Did you cause this?”

Hook walks over to a trunk bolted onto the floor in front of the bed and yanks out one of his black shirts. He languidly pulls it over his head, stretching and showing off his toned-albeit scarred-chest again as he does so, and Emma is ashamed to find herself staring for a split second. “Like what you see?” he asks, then, not waiting for an answer, snickers.

She looks away, then, back at his face, growing tired of his immaturity. “What the hell happened? You better have a really good explanation.”

Hook gently probes a fresh bruise on his forehead, but to his credit does not grimace. “That, Swan, was the wrath of an exceedingly angry sea goddess. And, judging by the look of the land outside,” he says, strolling over to the windows and cracking them open, “We’re in Davy Jones’ Locker.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Davy Jones’ Locker? You’re telling me that your evil sea witch friend or whatever dropped your ship into a land that your dad used to store dead bodies?”

Just her luck, really. She’s stuck in a land she knows nothing about-much like when she arrived in the Enchanted Forest-with a pirate that she wishes she knew less about, and her son is still missing. Oh, and her newfound family happens to be back in Storybrooke. 

Emma is really starting to consider the idea that she’s just a character in some dramatic network TV show being controlled by a team of writers and producers.

Which would be ridiculous, of course, because living in a town where all the nuns are actually fairies that happen to wear jellyfish for dresses isn’t weird enough. 

_I’d really like to see the bright side of this situation,_ Emma thinks to herself, _but somehow the only good thing I think about this is the fact that at least those puppets from Gold’s shop aren’t here. Rumpelstiltskin’s shop. Whatever._

It doesn’t take much for her to admit that she’s pretty sick of fairytale characters, and so the daughter of two very famous fairytale characters decides to go up on deck and survey the land while Captain Guy-liner finishes making himself look pretty again.


End file.
